Mutant Bonnie and Clyde
by Coledhearted
Summary: The X-Men find themselves in the cross heirs of an enemy they are unprepared to fight. So they recruit the illustrious pair known as the Mutant Bonnie and Clyde for much needed assistance. A story of attempted redemption, wayward retirement and dire repercussions.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters or the song. I receive no profit from this. Enjoy!

 **1\. IT'S A LONG WAY TO RICHMOND**

Wolverine held the tablet at arm's length, squinting his eyes at the pixilated image on the screen. On occasion he would flip the direction of the devise and then curse in frustration under his breath as they picture switched from landscape to portrait mode without properly formatting itself.

"Who the hell is this?" Wolverine grunted in frustration.

Emma Frost snatched the tablet from his grasp before he could break it, "That's the thing, love. No one really knows." She held the tablet at her side as she crossed her arms. "The Press calls them The Mutant Bonnie and Clyde. The only chatter about them that exists is that she can't control her skin based powers and he can charm his way into- or out of- damn near anything."

Wolverine leered at her in annoyance, "And why the hell am I lookin' at a shitty screen grab of them?" he demanded. He hadn't been back at the Institute for but an hour, but there he was, summoned to the War Room. All he wanted was a shower. And a beer.

"Because we need to find them." Scott muttered, tapping his fingers against the table. In that moment, Wolverine noticed how far-away Scott's gaze was. He continued to inspect Scott's uncharacteristic fidgeting.

"There somethin' yer negelctin' ta tell me?"

"Oh, we will get to that." Emma interjected, "Turns out you miss quite a lot when you fall off the radar for six months."

Wolverine tisked his tongue, "Yeah, well before I left we weren't Law and Order: Mutant Crimes Task Force. They're stealin' shit, so what?" he snapped, pressing his hands against the table and leaning forward on them.

"That's the thing, Logan. We're not hunting them. We need to hire them." Scott said coolly, looking up at him for the first time.

Wolverine blinked. "Well, shit." He sat down slowly. "Read me in on what's so bad we have to contract watered down Mercenaries… If we need an assassin I know a guy."

Emma laid the tablet back down on the table in front of Wolverine. This time it had a map of the Eastern seaboard and Southern part of the United States littered with little red dots spread out among the states.

"Let's see if we can only toe the line for now." Emma remarked dryly. "That can always be Plan B."

* * *

In her twenty odd years, the beautiful young woman in an elegant blue cocktail dress accented with elbow length white gloves had gone by many different names. The first had been Anna. Anna was her given name, specifically the name her parents had given her. For a brief period in her rebellious early teens she only answered to Marie. But it was Anna Marie when she fled the heavy hand of her father into the arms of an arguably lesser evil. There had even been a minute where she tried Marion on for size.

A plethora of names, yet not one of them she identified with. At least, not a real, Christian name.

Rogue sauntered around the Gala like she belonged there. She held herself proudly with her nose lifted upward at the sight of any cater-waiter in her near vicinity. She had worked very hard to fit the part, even going as far dying her white streak.

She scanned the room for her date. It didn't take long for her to spot him chatting up a hot piece of ass near a priceless piece of art. Rogue rolled her eyes, _typical._ Irritation shading her face, Rogue started to make a bee-line for him.

A hand caught the crook of her arm and forcibly turned her to face its owner. It was a man with dashing blue eyes, a devil-may-care smirk and shoulder length hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.

"May I have this dance?" he asked chivalrously with a polite bow.

Rogue glanced from him to her date, who was still flirting with the other woman. "You may." She replied.

The man led her out onto the dance floor. He placed his hands on her waist in gentlemanly fashion. The music started and they swayed rhythmically to the beat. She led.

"Tell me, why is a woman as radiant as you standing alone?" he breathed into her ear.

Rogue surveyed the entire room as they danced, counting the Art works, the number of security guard in uniform, the number of guards dressed like everyone else, the number of wait staff, the number of guards dressed as wait-staff. So on and so forth.

"Because my date is a creep who always goes for the tightest ass in the room." She muttered.

"Then he obviously hasn't been paying the right woman his attention." He laughed. They continued to dance around the room and after a few beats he continued, "Why come with him at all?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, "I'm told that it's all a part of the plan."

He held her at arm's length and then pulled her back to him so that their faces were inches apart, "It's a rather clever plan, if I do say so myself." He replied smugly.

Rogue gave him a tight smile, "Ah, good to know that your change in eye color doesn't alter your personality, Remy."

Remy grinned, "You love it, Cherie. And if it makes you feel better, these full eye contacts itch like a bitch."

She contemplated that statement, "A little. However, that handsy bastard keeps groping me and I have to pretend like I like it." She deadpanned.

Remy's grin fell, "Well, that doesn't make me feel any better."

"S'matter, suddenly don't like your plan's all it's cracked up to be?" Rogue replied with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Shrugging, Remy said, "Gotta take one for the team every now and then, hein? Don't worry, I'll make it up to you later." He winked.

Rogue scoffed, "That better entail ah-lotta chocolate and ah Rom-Com." She said accidentally slipping into her accent.

"Careful." Remy chastised quietly.

Rogue glared at him, "I know. I know how to run the con." The music stopped before transitioning into the next song. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get my date alone." She said with a faux smile.

She left Remy standing alone on the dance floor and made her way back to Franklin Morrison, her date. Frankie was the benefactor of the Gala. The man had married into his money, his ailing wife in a hospital in Germany for some unpronounceable experimental treatment no one had ever heard of.

Frankie was a conventionally attractive man in his early 50s with a hypnotic voice and roaming hands. He was also one of the few people who had complete access to everywhere within the Gala. Which was why he was the mark.

Rogue strolled over to Franklin, coming up from behind him. She slipped her arms around his waist with her chest pressed against his back. She lent in toward his ear and whispered something rather risqué and seductive.

Franklin perked up and completely forgot about Tight-ass Woman. He turned to face her with a roguish smirk hat encompassed a man's lips when he thought he was about to get laid. Rogue took his hands and led him to a "random" door.

The guards at the door started to stop them, but Franklin puffed out his chest and demanded to know if they knew who he was.

 _Franklin Morrison_ , that's who.

Rogue pretended to be enthralled by his blatant bullying and batted her eyes at him.

Smug and proud of his authority, Franklin brushed passed the guards, Rogue in tow. He led her through the door and down an adjacent hallway.

"Let's get a room with some privacy, eh?" he said in attempt to be charming, but still tried to showcase his status by pronouncing "privacy" as "priv-ah-cee".

Rogue fought the urge to throw up in her mouth, "Sounds perfect."

Franklin, using his keycard, took them into a locked room full of un-displayed Artworks and secured lockers for the more expensive works. Shutting the door behind them, Franklin turned to Rogue, stripping his jacket and loosening his tie.

"I'm gonna screw you so hard you won't walk straight for a week." He boasted.

Somehow, she seriously doubted he were capable of that.

Rogue grabbed him by his loose tie and pulled him closer. She kept the distance between their faces at mere millimeters, forcing herself not to recoil from his unpleasantly warm breath that smelled of caviar. Her lips parted and her teeth were dangerously close to grazing his mouth. She ignored the urge to stop and pretended he were someone else. Anyone else, really.

She took a step back and shimmied out of the thong she had been wearing. She held it out on her finger and waved it in front of him. He was entranced by it. Like a dog being baited with a bone.

"You know what I've never done?" she said cheekily, "I've never fucked in front of a million dollar painting. You and I should definitely have a first."

Franklin grinned, "You are absolutely right." He pulled out his keycard and went for one of the lock boxes, swiping his card and in putting a 10 digit pass-code. "Madelyn, meet-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Rogue bashed his head against the locker before he could. Saving herself from any more of his incessant conscious presence.

Rogue shivered with relief, thankful the plan had worked. She had no desire to have that creep roaming around in her head for the sake of a pass code. She slipped her underwear back on and checked the watch on Franklin's wrist. Remy should be arriving at any minute

Rogue rubbed her arms with her hands in attempt to sooth herself as she waited. She was doing her best to fight off unwanted memories. Her breath quickened as she fought the losing battle. Flashes started to consume her head. Her fingers began to tremble as her breathing became erratic.

A knock pulled her from her hellish trance. _Remy._

Rogue flew to the door and opened it just wide enough for Remy and the waiter's cart to make it in. Remy was now dressed as a waiter. He shut the door behind him and tossed an outfit to Rogue.

"Ain't got much time, Cherie." He said hastily as he deposited the Artwork under the cloth of the cart, adding any lose works in the room to the stash.

As Rogue took off the dress and put on the plain black and white staff clothing, Remy eyed Franklin with a grin on his lips.

Remy took Franklin's watch, wallet, keycard and then his pants. He stuffed Franklin's pants into the empty lockbox and shut it. He bent down over Franklin and smacked him on the cheek playfully. "You really oughta treat de femme's better, mon ami." He mused.

Remy paused his humiliation of Franklin to look at Rogue. He whistled, "Damn, cher you make anyt'ing look hot."

Rogue smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Now let's get outta here."

* * *

Irene Adler woke in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. She slowly drew herself up into a sitting position in the full sized bed that she did not currently share with anyone.

She had just had a terrible nightmare, but found herself unable to recall any specifics of the dream. All she knew was that she felt and overwhelming sense of dread and would be unable to fall back asleep anytime soon with the pressing anxiety causing her heart to flutter so offbeat.

She slid out from under her covers, placing her bare feet onto the carpeted floor. She held her hands out as she exited the room so not to accidentally run into anything as she made her way toward the small kitchen in the apartment she was dwelling in.

Irene worked her spatial awareness to find the cabinet that held her cups. Shakily, she reached up and took one, closing the door. She side stepped toward the sink, turning on the cold water. She let her finger linger under the water to ensure she had actually gotten the cold this time. She often forgot which knob was hot and which was cold in her old age. So it goes.

The water was satisfactorily cold, so Irene held her cup under the water, counting the seconds as not to overflow her glass.

However, a familiar tingling sensation stemmed from the nape of her neck that soon consumed her entire body. An ache right behind her eyes was her final segue into her new surroundings.

She could see. She could see the blinding white light overhead, the sterile environment of a hospital room. A quick glance revealed a huddled mass of a young woman quivering on the floor. Her face ashy and sullen, as if she were to soon take her final breaths. Irene gasped when she recognized the girl's white streaked hair. Anna Marie. Anna Marie was dying. Irene saw the life slowly fading from her eyes as a content smile began to encompass her lips.

"NOOO" the blood curtailing scream that erupted from Irene's throat caused the scene to disintegrate before her eyes. As quickly as it had come, it had gone. The familiar blackness was back in her vision.

Irene stumbled back, dropping the cup. The glass fell to the floor and shattered everywhere. She needed to get to a phone. She needed to warn Anna Marie. To warn Raven. Raven could save her. Irene stumbled over the broken glass, cutting her feet as she went.

The sensation of drowning washed over her as she found herself unable to breathe properly. Her vision had upset her so that her chest had tightened. Irene clutched her chest with her right hand, unable to move her left due to a sudden numbness.

 _Phone_. She needed the Phone.

Her body did not obey to her mind's commands. She was nauseated, dizzy and unable to remain upright on her feet. Irene fell to her knees, her screams now a hoarse whisper. She didn't even feel the glass cut into her side as she slumped over, her breath becoming labored.

Raven. Anna Marie. Phone.

Irene lay there, helpless and alone, tears streaming down her face as she was forced to reconcile with the imminent demise of her beloved Anna Marie.

The faucet was still gushing cold water into the sink as Irene's head pressed against the floor, unable to be held up any longer. The blind woman's unblinking gaze transfixed on nothing in particular in the direction of the old wall phone just feet from her.

It seemed that not even Destiny had the power to interfere with the fate this time.

* * *

 **A/N: Some general housekeeping info: I intend to update this story every other week, occasionally once a week, all depending on how much work I have.**

 **Forewarning, this story is dark at some points, that wasn't my original intention but that's what happened when I wrote the outline.** **That said, I don't want to upset anyone so I will include an (*) in the title at the beginning of the chapter as well as before the paragraph in question as a trigger warning. I'll note what the possible trigger involves down here using another (*) so not to spoil anything. Most of the things in question will be allusions to and/or insinuations of events that could be triggering.**


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. WE MET AT A TRUCKSTOP**

Emma Frost sat at the desk in the Main Office of the Charles Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters. There was a throng of maps with sharpied dots, police reports and pixilated photographs strung out on the surface of the desk haphazardly. Emma chewed uncharacteristically on her once pristine manicured nails as she stared blankly at the papers, trying to find a pattern.

She tapped her unoccupied hand on the desk as the door opened. She didn't bother to look up as Scott Summers enter the room, bearing the gift of caffeine.

He stopped short upon entering the room. He had never seen Emma look so unkempt. Her hair was greasy and pulled back into a messy bun, the bags under her eyes were a dark blue that reflected on her makeup-less face. She was even sans her infamously tight apparel, instead wearing a baggy tee-shirt and sweat pants.

Scott placed the thermos on the desk for Emma and cleared his throat.

"There was a report of a Stolen Monet in Atlanta." Emma stated.

"You think it was them?" Scott asked.

Emma let out a long sigh, "Possibly. Descriptions are iffy at best, but there aren't many bloody people willing to steal a painting in the middle of a Gala."

"Sounds irritating." Scott replied, nudging the coffee closer to Emma.

Emma glared at the thermos. "I appreciate the offer, but I am more of a tea drinker, myself."

"Maybe you should take a break, a nap… a shower." Scott suggested tentatively, careful not to make eye contact.

Emma looked up at him dangerously. "How are they?" her voice taking on a softer tone then her face reflected.

Scott frowned. "They're getting worse. Illyana has begun to hallucinate."

"Then no. I will not take a break." She huffed. "Sit your arse down and help."

* * *

 **FLASHBACK**

She was eighteen. She had hardly been out of Juvie for six months and she had spent majority of that time drifting around, trying to forget the stinging betrayal that had landed her there in the first place. She picked pockets, conned her way in and out of motels and was a frequent perpetrator of dinning and dashing.

He was just over twenty-one. Freshly exiled from New Orleans, he was moping around from city to city, trying to pick up the pieces of what was left of his life. He picked pockets, conned his way in and out of various women's beds and was frequently visiting the bottom of a bottle of bourbon.

Their fates intertwined at a dirty trunk stop in the middle of no-where Tennessee. She was a few days removed from a shower and he was coming off a bender.

It was early in the morning, the first rays of sunlight barely peeking over the trees, Rogue was tentatively napping on a metal bench under the cover of the truck stop awning when the roar of a motorcycle jarred her awake.

She popped off the bench and raced toward the Ladies room. She waited patiently against the wall next to the mouth of the bathroom entrance. She occasionally peered around the corner to get a look at her newest mark.

He looked about six feet tall, garbed with a long flowing trench coat and a scruffy excuse for a five o'clock shadow. He looked drawn out and tired. Which made him the prefect target for a good old lift.

Once he disappeared into the men's restroom, Rogue positioned herself by it's entrance. Poised to perfectly run into him on his way out. And when he exited, that was exactly what she did.

"Oupf. Ah am so sorry." She drawled as she backed away from him.

The man gave her a stiff smile, "Not a problem, Cherie." He glanced around the empty shelter. Presumably for the chaperone he thought she should have.

"My Momma's in the Ladies Room." She lied. "That woman takes longer in the washroom than it would take ah blind rat ta get outta ah maze with no exit."

"Mhm." Came his reply. "Where's your car?"

Rogue sputtered to find an answer.

"Better yet," the man continued, "Where's my wallet?"

Rogue's apologetic smile fell as she started to back away from him, prepared to run if he gave any hostile signals.

"Relax, petite. It was a clean lift. Unlucky for you, I happen t'be very well versed in dese sort o' t'ings." He held out his hand expectantly.

Rogue begrudgingly smacked his wallet back into his hand.

"Merci." He flashed her a toothy grin. "How old are you?"

"Old enough, creepy guy." Rogue scoffed.

Remy held up his hands innocently. "Hey, I t'ink you're callin' de kettle black here, pot."

"Ah ain't creepy." Rogue insisted, crossing her arms and leaning away from him.

He raised an eyebrow, "You kiddin' me" You jus' tried to mug me outside a truck stop bathroom 'fore the suns even come up. Dat's creepy."

"Whatever." Rogue retorted.

Remy eyed her slicked back hair. "Do you got a place t'stay?"

Rogue deadpanned, "Who's creepy now?"

Remy shook his head, slightly amused. "Touché. Good luck wit' your panhandelin' Cherie." He said, making his way back toward his bike.

Rogue watched him retreat, biting her lip. She did have very many options at this point. Who knew when the next Trucker would pass by who would be willing to let her hitch hike with them? Besides, it wasn't like she couldn't handle herself if Creepy Guy turned out to be A creepy guy.

"Hey! Which way are you headin'?" she called after him.

He half turned, "Anywhere I wanna go."

"Need some company?"

He stopped completely, and faced her. "Look, Cherie. I ain't a good man An' I ain't gonna do good t'ings." He told her.

She laughed as she made her way towards him, "What ah coincidence, Ah ain't ah good girl. An' Ah ain't ever done the right thing."

He snorted, "Allright den, M' names Remy."

"Let's get going, Remy." She said, getting on the back of his bike.

"Do you got a name?" he pressed.

"Not one that Ah like." She replied.

"Got something I can call you den, newest possible partner in crime?" He asked playfully.

She nodded, "Yeah. Call me Rogue."

Remy smiled. "Always did like de rogues. Now, let's get'ca a shower and a hot meal, hein?"

Remy straddled the bike and the duo drove off onto the Highway into a future neither were expecting.

* * *

 **PRESENT**

Rogue and Remy lay in a rather compromising position all twisted up in the sheets in a bed in a hotel room in the southern part of West Virginia. Remy held her as tightly to himself as he could, his mouth on every part of her skin that he could get.

She moaned his name over and over as her knuckles grasped the sheets. He purred in her ear and whispered sweet nothings in French. He took one of her hands and held it over her head as he intertwined their fingers.

Sometime later, the two still lay in the same bed, the sheets wrapped tightly around them. Remy held Rogue to his chest, occasionally kissing her bare shoulder.

"Je te aime." He whispered.

Rogue smiled and nuzzled him.

Rogue pawed for the remote for some background noise. She turned on the TV and returned her arm to their entanglement. Remy muttered something dirty about having someone to watch and Rogue smacked him playfully with a giggle.

"Don't worry, Cherie. De man on de TV won't tell." Remy said slyly, cozying up for round two.

" _Are you apart of the infected population known as Mutants_?"

The hook sentence of the commercial caught their undivided attentions.

" _Do you find that very mutation embarrassing or even debilitating_?"

Remy and Rogue untangled themselves from each other, positioning themselves instead against the headboard of the bed as they keenly watched the graying man in a business suit get to his point.

"My name is Dal Faas, CEO of Legatum Industries and I am here to offer these people an option. Yes, being a Mutant is not a choice. The type of mutation each person receives is not a choice, but why should some suffer in the darkest corners of society whilst others get to fly in the sunshine? I simply offer a solution to those willing to take it. A choice, if you will. One they were denied at birth. My company has engineered a serum that suppresses the part of the X gene that creates the mutations-"

Rogue turned off the TV and tossed the remote aside angrily.

"Who tha hell does he think he is with his shinny teeth and his Mr. Fix –it-attitude. Sure now it's a choice to take his drug. Assumin' it even works." She fumed, "Soon enough they'll be giving' it t infants along with their boosters."

Remy watched her wistfully. "Calm down, cher. Tis jus' another blow hard out t' make a quick buck by preyin' on de desperate. Pretty despicable, actually." His eyes twinkled mischievously, "An' I say dat as a man who steals for a livin'."

Rogue started to calm down but shook her head. "Ah jus' got ah bad feelin' about this is all."

Remy shrugged and pulled her closer to him, "Rogue, if you ain't been able t'figure out y'powers, don't'ca t'ink you'd be tempted by his offer?"

Muttering her assent to his statement under her breath, Rogue made a face. "Ah guess… It's not that… Ah imagine choosin' ta get rid o' your mutation is like…" Rogue paused to gather her thoughts, "It ain' necessarily somethin' ya want ta do but desperation has crept in an' you're cornered… Ah don't blame any one for wantin' ta unburden themselves, Remy" she said softly. "But Ah've been around the block long enough ta know that when something sounds too good ta be true, it is."

Remy frowned, "So he sells de people some sugar pills or de vaccine equivalent. Ain't nothin' you or I can do about it. Let de FDA decide if Haas is legit. In de mean time, you an' I have some choices t' make about where to go next."

Rogue nodded, "Ah hope your right. How about the West Coast? Never been there before." She suggested absently trying to push the thoughts of this so called cure from her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. BEFORE WE MADE IT OUTTA TOWN**

 **FLASHBACK**

As a child and subsequently a teenager Remy, like most people, had a best friend. The pair were inseparable, often leaving a wake of mischief everywhere they went. Many people from his family- and his Guild- found the relationship unbecoming of a LeBeau. There were whispers amongst the darkest corners of the Guild that Remy's friendship with the Bourdeaux child meant that Jean-Luc was growing soft in his old age.

Remy didn't care. There weren't many people his age that understood his life and what it entailed. His older brother, Henri, was eight years older than Remy and usually wanted nothing to do with him. He was typically too enthralled with his girlfriend, Mercy, to pay much attention to anything outside of her.

Julien Bourdeaux, however, was only three months older than Remy and his sister was just a year older than the both of them. Therefore, more often than not, young Remy found himself in their company because frankly, the dusty old Thieves that occupied his Guild bored him. It was all "plot this", "plan that", and "duck over in those shadows".

Remy was too young and too reckless to be caught up in such cautionary behaviors. He was far more interested in living in the moment. It was something he and the Boudreaux siblings had in had been shunned from the grown up table because of their ages. However, they were more than happy to have the time of their lives at the kiddy table sans any adult supervision.

However, at sixteen, Belle had begun her official Assassin's Guild initiation. She, like Julien, like Remy, had been training for such an honor her entire life and subsequently moved on from their obnoxiously rambunctious children's table in favor of the mature nature of the Grown Ups. Belle was growing up and blossoming into quite the young woman. Even a blind man could have seen it. But she left Remy and Julien to become a rebellious duo. Which was all well and good, except that she had been the voice of reason in their shenanigans.

Which was how fifteen year old Remy and Julien found themselves handcuffed to an interrogation table in the New Orleans Police Department around mindnight, each wearing stupid grins on their faces as they waited.

"S'matter, LeBeau, can't pick the lock?" Mocked Julien, his grin growing as he sat in the metal chair next to Remy.

Remy scoffed, "You insult me an' m'ancestors like dat?" his voice displaying a faux-anger.

Julien gave him a flat look, "Y'don't even know who y'ancestors are."

Remy glared at him, "Dat's cold Boudreaux. Knock dat pen over here." he beckoned the action with his fingers.

Julien complied with Remy's command. Remy awkwardly grasped the pen with his right hand, clicked the top and dug it into the keyhole. Focusing intently as he did so. Julien leant back in his chair as Remy attempted his Houdini escape.

"Do ya t'ink de cops are watchin' on de other side o'de glass an' jus' laughin' at y'dumbass?" Julien asked light heartedly, looking admiringly at his reflection.

"Non." Replied Remy absently, still focused on the lock. "But dey will be laughin' at de look on y'face when I make ya eat your rude words."

"Psh." Scoffed Julien, "'Long as they come wit' a side o'fries, hein?"

Remy chuckled as he heard the ever satisfying click of the lock. He swung the now-unlocked handcuffs around his free finger and looked to Julien smugly. "Sorry, de only available side is humble pie."

Before Julien could react, the detectives stormed the room, snatching the cuffs from Remy rather violently. They looked scathingly angry. If Remy and Julien had been two normal disruptive teenagers they may have even been afraid. But they weren't normal kids and they sure as hell weren't scared of them.

"Evenin' Officers. Nice night, no?" Julien asked offhandedly as if they were having a causal encounter on the street.

The elder officer, a woman in her early forties wearing a sensible pantsuit and a frown, glowered down her nose at them. Her dark skin made her hazel eyes shine that much brighter. She almost intimidated them. Almost. The younger man was a beat cop, still wearing his blues, a scowl and a nasty shiner forming on his right eye.

"Do you have any idea what we have on you lot?" snapped the woman, Detective Rhoads was her name. She slammed her hands against the metal table. "Theft, assault, battery, assaulting an officer-" Julien winked at the younger officer as Rhoads continued to recite the laundry list of crimes. "-attempted arson!" she finish dramatically.

"Arson?" Remy huffed, "How da hell'd y'get dat?"

"We found charred playing cards and various other objects that looked like they'd been set on fire." Replied Officer Marino, his eyes never leaving Julien as he attempted to stare the younger boy down. Julien was unphased and stared back unenthusiastically.

Remy scratched the back of his neck and coughed nervously. _His bad_. "Don't arson involve some kinda accelerator? Promise you won't find no traces of dat."

Before Remy could continue to plead his case that he was no arsonist, the door to the interrogation burst open again.

This time Remy and Julien were scared.

Two men swaggered in like they owned the place (because technically they kind of did). Jean-Luc with his salt and pepper hair was flanked by the mostly bald and completely gray Marius. The boys paled at the sight of them.

Remy turned to Rhoads, "Dere any chance I can spend de night in jail?" he asked hopefully.

Jean-Luc tossed an envelope at the stunned officers who were smart enough not to protest and then he grabbed Remy by the ear. "Boy, you'll be lucky if you make it t'rough de night." He snarled, leading him from the room

* * *

 **Present**

Remy stood on the second floor landing of the motel he and Rogue were camping out in while they tried to decide their next move. He leant against the peeling railing, a cigarette in his hand as he lazily watched the highway traffic on the far street. They had managed to get the paintings to his fence two nights before, and their reward was a hefty deposit into their account. And while they would have afforded to be staying in a much fancier place, neither felt up to playing the roles of hoity toity rich person.

They were more comfortable staying in the mover average-person type of places. The motel wasn't the best, but it was clean and the clerk didn't ask any questions.

Remy was trying to place the familiar lyrics circling in his head when he heard the familiar roar of a motorcycle and turned his head for a better look. It made him nostalgic for the days he had one. However, a motorcycle just wasn't practical for a couple of thieves always on the run. Maybe it was something he would make a priority upon retirement.

He watched the bike come to a stop in the parking lot longingly. The man on the bike was slow to get off it, like he weighed more than he looked. He seemed- to Remy- like he was a weary traveler. For no reason at all, Remy wondered where he was headed. The man took off his helmet and placed it atop the seat of his bike.

Straining his eyes, Remy could have sworn he watched the man sniff the air. Which may not have been odd, had there been anything in the air to smell. Something about the small, hairy man gave Remy a twisting feeling in his gut.

Snuffing out the end of his cigarette into the metal of the railing, Remy did his best to casually stroll back into his room without calling the man's attention to him.

He shut the door softly. Rogue was towel drying her hair from her shower, pausing to take in the worried look on his face.

"Time t'go, cher." He said calmly.

Rogue missed only a beat before nodding. She ran the towel through her hair once more, getting the excess hair dye out before disregarding the towel to the floor. In a fluid reaction, she stuffed the few things they had around the room into a duffle bag.

Remy tossed her a baseball cap before slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Feds?" Rogue asked as she shouldered the bag.

Remy, grabbing his own bag, shrugged. "Dunno. But I got a bad feelin' an' m'guts kept me alive dis long."

Rogue smiled, "Alright then. Where to next?" she asked as they exited the room into the sunlight.

Remy scanned the parking lot as they made their way toward the far staircase of the landing. The man was gone, for now. He shrugged to answer Rogue's question. "Haven't been to Pennsylvania yet."

"Ah guess." She replied as they made their way down the staircase toward the car. Remy unlocked the tan-ish Sorrento and tossed his bag into the back seat.

"You wanna take first shift or me?" he asked over the hood of the car.

"Ah'll do it." Rogue volunteered.

He tossed her the keys across the hood and rounded the car to the passenger seat. As Rogue adjusted the driver seat and mirrors, Remy was scanning the area for the man from the bike. Remy caught sight of him on the second floor landing, still sniffing at the air. Remy's breath caught in his throat when the man stopped outside the door of the room they had been staying in.

As Rogue pulled out of the parking lot, Remy craned his neck to watch the man from the rear window. The man looked irritated and was surveying his soundings, still sniffing the air.

Luckily for them, they were on the road before he realized he just missed them. Remy however, put on a brave face as he tried to shove down his building anxiety. Someone was looking for them, and by the looks of it he was a good tracker.

* * *

Emma stood outside the Medbay, peering through the observation glass. She was watching young Rhaine and Illyana. The latter woman was only 16 years old but not even a year before she had been a 6 year old. Now she was a teen, and queen of a hell dimension. And now she was dying.

"What are we gonna do?" asked a meek voice beside Emma.

Emma turned to see Kitty Pryde standing beside her, shifting her weight from foot to foot anxiously. Emma ground her jaw. It was no secret that she and Kitty did not get along, but right then that didn't matter.

"We're going to save her." Emma said with a resolution that she wished she could make a reality.

Kitty inhaled, "I saw Logan leave a few nights ago. Where'd he go?"

"To try and secure Plan A." replied Emma, glancing over toward her petite teammate. Kitty hardly looked any better than the ailing Illyana. She was pale and her head would wobble every of often like her body was threatening to fall asleep that very second.

"We can't lose her. Pete will be distraught… Me too." She added wistfully. "She's my best friend."

"Yes." Emma said stiffly. "We have to save her. I can't imagine you'll even make another friend." Her jab was light hearted in nature.

Kitty seemed relieved by her insult and gave a small smile, "God forbid the day I am ever desperate enough to ask you to braid my hair."

Emma snorted, "God forbid." She agreed.

Kitty stopped talking. She began to watch Peter as he clutched his sister's hand through his hazmat suit on the other side of the glass.

"What's Plan A?" Kitty asked after a long pause. "Cause rumor has it that we're contracting out the rescue. Which isn't really our M.O."

Emma sighed, "That's why I am hoping that it will work." When Kitty didn't reply, Emma continued. "Those people know exactly what they're doing. Ambushing Illyana like that. It's improbable that they got her by random. Who knows how many of us have been made as X-men."

"Illyana was targeted, as a mutant and more importantly as an X-man. I'm sure they have dossiers on all of us- which is why we've sent out an All-Call for Reserve members to get back here…" Emma paused. "Even if we went and ransacked the place, we'd probably walk into an waiting foxes den."

"Besides, we don't even know what we're looking for. By the time we found anything of use the National Guard and every News Company in American would be outside waiting- watching. It's look mighty suspicious and very un-heroish of us to do such a thing, don't you agree?" Emma asked

Pinching the edges of her mouth, Kitty nodded reluctantly. "I guess when you put it like that. I just worry. Why would they help us?"

"Because they're mutants too. They're in just as much danger as the rest of us." Emma replied solemnly.

* * *

 **AN: Another chapter down :). So I am confident that in the next three weeks or so I should be able to update on a weekly basis, so be on the look out for that.  
**

 **R &R!**


	4. Chapter 4

*** Possible trigger warning(?)  insinuations of child abuse. No details provided, nor is it explicitly explored, but I've asterisked the paragraphs that have any mention of it. Like I've said, I'd rather be safe than sorry.**

 **4\. LAY THAT HAMMER DOWN**

 **Flashback**

She was six when her mother disappeared. Local Lawmen didn't look too hard for her, after all she was just another damned Hippy who couldn't tell a joint from a jukebox. Every night Anna prayed that her mother would return to them, and twice on Sundays. Some evenings she would sit on the front porch steps of her Father's house and watch the horizon, imagining- willing- that she saw the silhouette of her mother in distance coming home with groceries.

That day never came.

*At seven, the physical abuse began. Anna had made it a habit of not being home when her father was. A quarter mile down the beaten path that they called a road a boy named Cody Johnson lived with his family on their farm.

Every day after school until the last rays of dawn, Anna took refuge there. She had even learned to participate in the farm chores so that she could help Cody get done sooner and they could play longer.

Weekends, however, were the worst. There was no school to demand her attendance and her father had nowhere to be. So he would sit in his recliner, a bottle of Brandy in a brown paper bag in his lap, the TV alive with white noise because the bunny ears had drifted too far left.

One particular Saturday morning, Anna was in the kitchen creeping around quietly so not to wake the drunk and sleeping bear residing in the living room. She was making herself a hearty breakfast of stale toast.

Much to her chagrin, the sound of the toast bouncing from the toaster stirred her father. He groaned something incomprehensible from the next room and Anna grabbed her toast and dashed up the stairs, not wanting to be present as he got his bearings. She would stay holed up in her room for the rest of her day. She would spend it re-reading the long overdue books from the local library she had checked up with her mother as a young child.

Eventually, she had to go back down stairs though. Around five P.M. she could no longer ignore her hunger. She carefully made her way around the house as if it were a Mine Field and one wrong step meant… BOOM.

She might have preferred a mine field.

Her father was, once again, asleep in the living room, this time on the couch. The TV was blaring some basic cable kind of variety show. Anna was relieved. In the kitchen, she started scavenging for something to eat. In the top cabinet next to the fridge was the cereal. She could go for some cereal.

Methodically, Anna scaled the side of the kitchen counter. She stood atop the counter on her tippy toes to reach the top shelf that head the cereal. It was just beyond her reach, so she jumped.

On her way down, Anna landed poorly. In a panic she grabbed the shelf to steady herself. Instead, the shelf and the two below it came toppling down, taking her with them.

Anna lay on the floor of the kitchen having survived an avalanche of cereal and various canned goods, all of which now lay around her, some dented, and others cracked open. She relished in her good fortune that she was okay, but then realized one terrifying fact. The sound _had_ to have woken her father up. And he was not going to be happy, not one little bit.

Anna hopped to her feet like the floor was lava. She had to get out of there. Now.

In the living room she could hear her father's disgruntled shouting.

*If she didn't get out of there then she was going to be black and blue for Church in the morning. And if she showed up looking like that then surely this time Pastor Robbins would call Child Protective Services to take her away.

Her father had told her what happened to children they took away from home. How they were starved and forced to wear rags and clean until their fingers bled. She didn't want that. Sure, her father wasn't the best, but at least there was always food.

Without a second thought, Anna bolted out the back door. She got halfway down the gravel drive before she realized she was barefoot. It didn't matter, she couldn't go back for her shoes right then. So she kept running.

She ran the quarter mile down the dusty dirt road to the Johnson's house. Pink and out of breath by the time she got there, she wasted no time in frantically knocking on the door. She waited in the humid summer air anxiously for an answer, hoping that they were home.

Mrs. Johnson, a middle aged blonde woman with squinty brown eyes and a pointy nose answered the door. She looked down at Anna suspiciously.

"C-Can Cody come o-out an' play?" Anna gasped out.

Mrs. Johnson frowned and checked her watch, "Ah don't know dear, it's awful late ta play… say, have ya had dinner yet?"

Anna shook her head, still trying to catch her breath.

"Uhuh…" replied Mrs. Johnson absently opening the door wider, allowing Anna to enter. She tisked her tongue, "Is your Daddy home?" she asked.

"No ma'am." Anna lied. "He hadta tun out ta tha bank. Told me ta come here til he came home."

"Ah'm sure he did." Replied Mrs. Johnson dubiously, leading Anna into the back of the house where Cody and his father sat at the kitchen table. Cody smiled brightly at her and pulled up a chair next to him at the table. Anna joined the light atmosphere of the Johnson's dinner table, laughing at Mr. Johnson's corny jokes and discussing what she and Cody were learning in school.

They were the closest thing she had ever had to a normal family.

* * *

 **Present**

Confident that they had lost the Tracker in Virginia, Rogue and Remy had taken to staying at a Four Seasons off the interstate of Maryland in a quaint little Lake town.

It was the middle of night, but that didn't stop them from occupying the gym area of the hotel. They liked it better that way, it allowed them to be alone. To work out away from the prying eyes of the general public.

Rogue had busied herself with sprinting on the treadmill while Remy did his rounds on the weight machines. This went on for some time, the two eventually switching spots- Rogue now doing strength training and Remy doing cardio.

When they were both good and tired they called it a night. There wasn't enough room in the compact space for them to spar unless they moved the machinery around and they weren't about to attempt any such thing.

* * *

Back in their room, Remy caught Rogue by surprise when he tackled her to the bed.

"Bang yo' dead, cher." He said playfully.

Rogue scoffed, "Yeah, right Sugah." She squirmed out from under him, "Ya corner me like that in ah real fight an' we both know it's you who's dead."

"Stop it, y'makin' me blush." Remy volleyed back. "Y'wouldn't do dat even if you wanted to."

Rogue paused and rolled over to face him, slipping off her glove and running a single finger down his face, "Maybe not, but Ah would on ah dare." She said mischievously.

Remy scooted back on the bed, lying flat on his back and folding his arms behind his head, "Well lucky fo' both o' us den dat I am a bettin' man an' not a darin' one, hein?"

* * *

Logan followed his latest vague lead on the couple to Maryland. He had made his way around all the hotels in the resort-esque area- which was to say a lot of hotels. He described them vaguely as a mid-twenties white couple who looked very inconspicuous except for the white streak in the woman's hair. He explained to the various front desk workers that he had lost his cell phone in a rest stop and couldn't remember the name of the hotel they were to meet at.

Finally, when he stopped at a hotel on the bottom of his list, did he get a hit. The receptionist had seen a couple matching his description leaving the gym at odd hours of the night every day for the past couple nights.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Logan asked for the room number. However, that was where the clerk stopped being helpful. She wasn't permitted to release that information, she insisted. But she offered to inform them that he was there.

Yeah, that was the opposite of what he wanted. He didn't have enough time to continue following them around.

It took him some time to convince her _not_ to do that, and let her think it was her idea. Instead, he booked his own room and told her he'd catch them at the Continental Breakfast the next morning.

Logan hauled himself up to the third floor to take a shower and call for back up.

When he had finished doing just that he began his reconnaissance. He started searching the hallways for any trace of their scent that he had caught at the motel in Virginia a week earlier.

The second floor smelled vaguely like them, more so on the right side than the left. So careful to check his surroundings, Logan started to sniff the door handles. When he struck gold he smiled. He backed up to note the room number. 231.

He grinned manically to himself and turned to catch some Zzzzs himself when he spotted a small child peering at him curiously from the alcove that held the vending machines.

Logan growled at the kid as he passed by, causing the kid to nearly jump out of his pajamas and tear down the hallway in the opposite direction.

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter, Wolverine officially meets Rogue and Gambit. And the plot gets a rollin'. Reviews are appreciated!**


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